This, Too, Shall Pass

These broken flowers fall from the stones upon which they were laid.
These broken people return to the one that had them made.
These broken letters fail to reach the inhabitants of the tomb.
These broken souls come screaming once again from the womb.

These little tendencies claiming the addict and his hands.
These little words are feelings, thoughts, emotions he withstands.
These little shakes, they make him focus on what he had left behind.
These little bites, they take his energy when he needs his teeth to grind.

These ended wars leave the dead in their wake.
These ended tours become distorted and fake.
These ended lives settle down on the shore.
These ended scenes leave us begging for more.

A Fever Persists

Mapped by SlipKnoT's "The Blister Exists", Volume 3: The Subliminal Verses (2004)

Taking whatever for the necessary funds.
Absorbing, archaic, like a sponge.*
Swallowing down & choking them out.
Pounding out every single inch of doubt.

Raping gray matter from within its walls.
Chewing the debris of every scrap that falls.
Killing the cells one fiber at a time.
Listing the temptations leading to the crime.

Let it fade, let it go dry.
Distinguish life from death by watching blood fly and stain it all.
Destroy my needs and all I've built.
Just kill me slowly enough that I can see what I'm leaving behind.

Always in Surveillance

And she walked there with a purpose
full of vinegar, piss and myopic as hell.
And she stood there justifying
the beautiful, fragile empty shell.

And she moved on daily, never ceasing
to forget what she was always forced to learn.
But she stayed there, still retreating
knowing at some point it would all have to burn.

And she lingered in the senses & nostrils
of all those she passed by each day.
But she never had a clue how lucky they felt
when they saw her coming their way.

Heaven Isn't Far Enough

for Uncle Mark Macken (10/2/61--10/25/08), Rest in Peace


It's a shame to believe you could see me that day.
It's a shame to imagine you could see me this way.
Faith is a bitch during your final show.
It might've been easier if there was nowhere to go.

I wonder what it's like to watch us in pain.
I wonder what it's like to witness our shame.
Are you angry at how selfishly we've turned this around?
Is there any time up there to enjoy what you've found?

I guess we may never know until someday later if we meet.
I guess I'll just spend my time here on the edge of my seat.
If there's any justice, though, you won't have long to wait.
I just hope I make it there, and don't get dragged down by hate.

There's just so much left here you could've made better,
and I can't just call or write you a letter.
So I cry for a hero and wonder why you had to be it.
I sob like a lost child, knowing you'd hate to see it.

Doc

Sometimes I don't know why the things I do are the things I try.
Sometimes I don't know who I can believe; who's being true.
Sometimes the shit will fall down no matter how low you crawl.
Sometimes the shit just sinks no matter what the devil thinks.

'Sometimes I think I'm crazy. Other times I know I'm not.'*
Sometimes I think I'm lazy. Easily, I could be bought.
Sometimes the fear & pain are the only things that never change.
Sometimes there's no time left to pick them up & rearrange.

Sometimes the hate is there. It's just too difficult to care.
Sometimes the hate is gone; its absence suddenly unfair.
Sometimes I could just kill, snuff you out with my free will.
Sometimes I wish these feelings were controlled by another pill.

* "Tumult" by Stone Sour, Stone Sour (2002)

Dusted

The skin on my knuckles is caked in dirt, at least what hasn't been torn away.
The skin on my fingertips ceased to hurt when it disappeared yesterday.
The skin on my knees could spill no more blood being bent and steady so long.
The skin on my teeth was tired of mud and gave up trying to be strong.

On a long enough time line the figure is zero for all human life expectancy.
On a long enough time line every bad idea will make it out past pregnancy.
On a long enough time line everyone falls down on their knees for a god.
On a long enough time line all of the faithful decide to live in fraud.

By the end of the day, all of the breathing will end in some sort of smile.
By the end of the day, they'll all be wondering what happened to their little while.
By the end of the day, you can sit in judgment of all that cross your path.
By the end of the day, you can be with the righteous or satisfied in your wrath.

Prelude 1.0*

*Special thanks to SlipKnoT's "Prelude 3.0", 2004


And then all of a sudden I became depressed.
I wallowed in thoughts thought long supressed.
When I shared the tiny scars with them
the laughter rose up like a sea.
So now it's over...

Hate became the blanket of saving.
Pain is now the drug I'm craving.
When I led a journey inward
they refused to come along.
So now it's over...

I know now why I never asked you.
I don't know how I put it past you.
When I tried to be real again
you made all the parts break away.
So now it's over...

Desensitized

You sound like the bugs have taken flight.
You sound like a man crying in the night.
You swear that nothing left in here is fair,
but I heard you bless the angels in the air.

You look like you're hungry & alone.
You look like an old man by the phone.
You leave nothing to chance at any time,
but I saw you play the wheel with your last dime.

You feel like a wasted piece of meat.
You feel like you're frozen in the heat.
You lean on no one, no one's in your way.
You need nothing, but you can't go home today.

You smell like a day that had to fade.
You smell like a memory never made.
You went to make peace with all the ghosts,
but you're still at war with the one you loved the most.

You taste like a treat left in the sun.
You taste like you're burning on the run.
You fled the day that judgment sat for you,
but leaving didn't make the lies come true.

Bright Ribbons, Low Lights

For Aunt Jeanne...the good fight is never over.

They say the devil may care when all hope is gone,
but that would leve me nothing for today.
So I'm on bended knee with eyes closed to the world,
and I'm remembering how to pray.

We walk, we write letters, we hold up big signs
for all the mothers & sisters we love so much.
Sometimes there's no words, though, to cover the distance
to those hearts we need to touch.

They have fallen, they have passed, they have gone to their maker...
They've met an early grave.
But they have shown us true love, what it means to be a hero...
There are so many left we can save.

So we'll stand here together, from this day to the last,
praying for those so pure,
and we'll never stop caring and sharing the memories.
One day, we will find a cure.

Folded

Long and hard was the road we shared
that out of darkness led up to light.
Little did I know just how much you cared
because not once did I ever see you take up the fight.

Dark & frightening was the road I walked alone
each & every time you left for selfish reasons.
Sweating like a pig or chilled to the bone,
you changed your faces just like the seasons.

Satisfied in pain now is the only road I walk
and no more worries of your words fill my mind.
Not one more step or movement will you stalk
when I make my road impossible to find.

Blindsight is 20/20

It's everything and nothing you always avoided and wanted to be.
It's ingrown flowers blooming deadly, hiding your eyes so you can see.
It's breaking ground and stopping production on all these beautiful terrors.
It's clouding out and shining light on a perfect God's great error.

It's the time it took to leave and stay for all eternity.
It's time to show the bastard your rights to paternity.
It's laser-guided capability that can't find a fucking thing.
It's a slashed throat bleeding everywhere, and stopping just to sing.

It's the breathtaking artwork of archane machinery making you vomit on the beach.
It's the softest touch ripping off your hand; it's yourself that's out of reach.
It's the way they fell when they stood tall, selling you out for their ideals.
It's the way you're numb all day long, and no one else knows how it feels.

Aggressive Perfector*

*from Slayer's 'Haunting the Chapel', 1984


She came along and took it from my hands, the blanket I'd woven for myself.
It engulfed her like blood, like a comfort so few would understand.
She filled it out much better than I ever could have, the bumps and curves in all the right places.

There was something fundamentally wrong with the picture, though.
This was me and what I am. This was building quite a dam.
This was every overtaking I'd resisted for years.

She came along and wrapped herself in it, the crimson cover I had sought.
It kissed every line and ran like wildfire over every single turn.
The body was definately still warm.

There was something indecent about the thoughts I couldn't contain.
This was my last straw of pride. There was no one left on my side.
This was the loss of a fate I couldn't quite make.

She took it off, only to rise again, freed from sanguine captivity.
It fell like the curtain from some show only I could see.
She made it her own in a way that was still foreign to me.

There was something wonderful about the abandonment I felt.
This was me, once again alone, and this was me, chilled to the bone.
This was the fear I needed, and now I'm beautifully unwhole.

You May Now Respond

Through the blood red sky you can stare with a potent mix of anger and shame,
and you can wonder what kind of man I've become, and try to shift the blame,
but I'm telling you one last time I don't need you, you never helped me become whole,
and I could give two shits about the fake impact you think you've had on my soul.

In the pale morning light you can squint and seek out the motives driving my hate,
and you can ponder your words to me, guessing what was to be the crap laid upon my slate,
but I swear to God and all below that your advice has been taken worth a grain of salt,
and no matter what else comes out of my mouth, you better know it's not your fault.

With decline in mind, through the blistering heat of all of our last days,
you can count the prayers that you held for me, and question them in so many ways,
but it's fact tried and true that I'll never need you to intervene for my sake,
and I better not see any crocodile tears when they close the casket at my wake.

These Lies, Our Chosen Roles*

*from "Of One Blood" by Shadows Fall

Decadence and degradation, after all it's worth at least a paid vacation.
It's time to go under the cloak and dagger, for one last night, I'll turn and swagger.

I've got too many chips to cash out now, and I'm not yet done being under the plow.
So you pour this shit in front of me, right there where all my eyes can see, but I'll have the control you'll never be.
It wasn't denied for lack of brain, no matter how ill-gotten the gain, it was what kept me from going insane.

But I'm stronger than all now, the blindfold is gone.
I'm seeing more than all now, between the right and wrong.
I'm making amends now to all I've hurt,
but I can't take the blood off my own shirt.

It's time you saw what they made me do.
This was the crux of my new attitude.
But the truth is something worse I can't stop.
I can't deny wanting every last drop.

So what do I face and how do I replace all the locations I am going?
How many times must I repeat the crimes to all the new people I'm knowing?
And how the hell do I fight the smell of the bottles so beautifully glowing?

I've got no answers, no time left, not another moment to act bereft.
I've got just enough energy here to contemplate this theft.

Mapping Pantallica

These times are said to try men's souls.
No tears can cleanse these regrets.
I'm bone, brain, and cock.

Would you look at me now, and can you tell I'm a man?
Hold my breath as I wish for death.
Language of the mad...

Mutiny in the air...
You can't be something you're not.
All alone, and the memories still remain.

This world is shattered.
No damn chains can hold me to the ground.
Where's the dreams that I've been after?

When I die, I'll cast a shadow.
What's done is done and gone, so why try?
This shortest straw has been pulled for you.

Quitting

I'm smelling myself in past dimensions,
because my mind's still going in a mllion directions,
and synasthesia's still scaring the shit out of me.

The taste and smell were always the same,
and they made me so glad that you came,
and I can't believe this fear is what will make me free.

The continued pulsing won't go away with time,
and I'm still being punished with enjoyment of the crime,
and no pill I swallow will make it go away.

So this is the feeling, to unburden myself,
to stick every last bottle up on a shelf,
and tell a room of strangers what I've done...?

Well then I'm left here just asking
whose will I've been tasking,
and what the hell do I do now for fun?

Without a Hangover

Staring out the window at what the realtor called a 'view,'
I shudder to wonder at what matters less.
Is it me or the archane systems I represent at every turn.

Flipping through the pages of what my uncle calls the 'news,'
I listen for anything worth calling noise.
Is it me or the silence that makes me sick?

Sifting through the seeds & stems of what my buddy calls 'good times,'
I try to feel anything sharp enough.
Is it me or the grass that makes t.v. bearable?

Picking through the scattered remains of what Mom called 'leftovers,'
I try to imagine what sense I'll still feel.
Is it me or the mustard that stains everything?

Sitting on that wooden perch your father called 'an example,'
you try to pretend I'm what you worked for.
You laugh because there's nothing to say.*

*Slipknot, "No Life" Slipknot (1999)

Caana

I'm addled in what you've designed.
It's what causes these spaces in my mind.
It's what leaves me unable to find
the place where the world should be kind.

I'm strapped in for a daily ride.
It's what leaves me without any pride.
It's what makes me wish I'd already died,
while I wait for your disease to kill me from inside.

I'm sniffing at every new scent.
It's what leaves me broken & bent.
It's what leaves my head with a dent,
while I beg for more time to pay rent.

I'm wondering what happens now.
It's why I pointlessly rub my brow.
It's what breaks me under the plow.
It's why I'm dying, but just not how...

No Field Goals

I want nothing and you'll never see
the very little it takes to drive me
to the brink of a stroke, it's where you live,
when I'm all full, and there's nowhere to give.

It's why my feet continue to move,
even when there's nothing to prove,
and you're reaching ahead for whatever may come
and I'm only happy when I'm down & dumb.

There's so much out there I should need,
yet only certain hungers I ever feed,
no matter how hard you're clawing away,
I'm left here waiting for the end of the day.

So just be happy with what you've got,
and don't worry until you hear the shot,
because I promise not to make such a big mess
when my desire can finally reach for no less.

Omni Presents

So I was thinking, maybe he can't see it all.
Maybe he's just been around too long
to wonder if we're praying or breaking into song,
to know whether or not we give a shit about right from wrong.

So I was hoping, maybe I'll get away with it.
Maybe it's not about eventual perfection,
but just about possibly making a connection
to forget the science of thought & natural selection.

So I was guessing, maybe there's nothing to look forward to.
Maybe omnipotence is as good as it gets
and it's less fun to get away with whatever he lets,
and all you do is take the gamble out of all your bets.

So I was begging, maybe I could lose the guilt.
Maybe my intelligence won't let me feel so down
to wonder why I'm even allowed to stick around
to beg in tears for final forgiveness before I'm rotting in the ground.

Control Denied

I'm sweating and beautifying
but inside I feel like dying.
These pictures of you just smile so hard.

I see what this work will bring me,
a new, handsome boy that I can't be,
I still can't believe you ran so far.

A heart not soft enough for you,
sad old man and what he couldn't do,
is all that's left since you walked away.

An angel in black,
who will never come back
helped me begin to die that day.

I guess I'll never make it.
I wish you would've let me fake it,
to have my own heart, but you had to break it.

In Ashes

I'm not losing my mind this time, and it all hurts so much more.
It's like finally getting off the pipe, and still going on being a whore.
I've been begging for blindness since I was old enough to see.
I swear to God, I want to die, but not with eyes not free.
Soon I know, we'll walk away, and we'll never come back.
Soon I know, I'll be obsessed, I'll be crying for some smack.
These realizations are constantly scaring the shit out of me.
I'm out of tears for that one last chance to get the fit out of me.
There's not one soul that's left, none that I can trust.
By this time next year, I know I'll turn to dust.

Acceptable Period

Can't bring a sense of attention.
Cannot be forced to mention,
all the ways we were rejected
no matter how hard we were reflected.

I watched for knives coming at my back until I felt it.
One blade under the ribs, and one underneath my armpit.
The bastard came right at me, with smiles & salutations.
He knew just how to play on every one of my frustrations.

We saw our blood and the closing of the coffin door.
Next we were begging for the friend of sinners & a whore.
But we got nothing but the darkness from which we ran away,
and now we breathe in dirt & worm shit every single day.

He was like a god, showing nothing to the non-believers.
He was like an angel, comforting all the grievers.
He smiled deftly, and took every single thing in reach,
and when it seemed all over, I found one more knife in one more breach.

A Wish Called Cotton

All I know is that it smelled like sin,
and I'd kill & bleed just to get in,
and it made me sweat and swear and pull out my hair,
and it was more painful than fiction and it was absolute addiction,
and she stayed there and looked like that all alone,
and I could barely contain the need for new flesh & bone,
and we waited and waited and we were never sated,
and everyday longer it was more complicated,
and every time they came I tried to laugh it off,
and never could I keep it to a whisper and a cough,
and every single strand & every single drop
made me feel more like a fool and more like a prop,
and every pretty smile drove me a little more insane,
and in every waking moment I fell more in love with the pain.

Scarred Winter

Watching you behave this way, it kills me to believe,
to share the shame, the pain you've made, with ease how you deceive.
I watch my friend bleed slow & dry;
I beg for you to let him die...
With laughing eyes & a stabbing heart, you offer no reprieve.

There is a champion among us,
someone to deliver,
someone to play forgiver.
But they can't win all the time,
they can't match your power.
You grow darker every hour.

It's just that I fear what I don't understand.
Would you really give in if we meet your demand?
Would you give back his hand without taking his arm?
What will it take to make you stop the harm...?

Who's Left

For good old Sandy Wilson

I never thought that it would last forever.
I just thought maybe we could go together
to see what the Big Man had planned with care
in that pretty place in the air up there.

I never guessed you'd be here for eternity,
just long enough to fulfill the rights of maternity.
I was sure you would walk hand in hand
with good boys & girls to the promised land.

I knew I couldn't hold you till all days were done.
I just thought trying would be so much fun.
I thought we'd go into a home for old age,
and walk off together from that final stage.

I knew however long we had just wouldn't be enough,
but no one ever told me it would be this rough
to see you pass by me towards that good night,
and wonder if I'd ever make it up to the light.

When He Gets Here

He's inching closer to habitual hatred.
The eggs are on his skin every afternoon.
He itches to an anti-climactic standstill.
We'll welcome him when he gets here.

She broke another on at the foot of the stairs.
The pile isn't leaving her sight.
She's got another little vessel in mind.
We'll welcome her when she gets here.

They tried heinous acts without having the feelings.
They brought the decreee from the highest level.
They went home early again.
We'll welcome them when they get here.

Broken at the Threshold

There is a pristine chapel that clouds her visage,
channelling the love of those forgotten.

There is a bust of a man that answers her chamber
reminding the souls of the dead & rotten.

There is a portrait of assemblage that hovers in the gallery,
calling her memory to mind.

There is nothing more than a body lying here,
for some clueless neighbors to find.